


B is for B'SHERT

by SteelandSilk (SilkCut)



Series: Cherik Alphabet Theme Challenge [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Because Raven and Magda will both play important roles in my version of the story, Bookended Meetings, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fascism era, Gen, Implied Violence, M/M, More Childhood stuff, Original Character(s), Part 2 of Cherik Alphabet series, Prelude to shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 14:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkCut/pseuds/SteelandSilk
Summary: Before Charles and Erik would ever cross paths for the first time amidst raging seas, each boy has met a girl in his past who will change the course of his life forever.An AU set before the events inX-Men: First Class.





	B is for B'SHERT

**Author's Note:**

> Best read with **A for ATOM** from the series.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**B'SHERT**

.  
.  
.

_the seeking of a person who will complement you and whom you will complement perfectly_

✹

_Predestined soulmate_

.  
.  
.

 

* * *

 

 

  **Present**

 

 

Steel scrapes against itself, so shrill and painful that it bled out from his mind and began to affect his own ears, and yet nobody else could hear it except Charles.

It pierced him everywhere in an instant; like a collision between two forces that never should have touched in the first place. A continental shift would have proven less grievous, and Charles could have easily been thrown off his feet too, if only he wasn’t grasping onto his mind's defense which had kept him upright from where he stood—thankfully enough, but such reprieve was short.

Instead of turning down the volume (which he has mastered over the years by honing his telepathy by himself), Charles did the stubborn, dangerous thing and mapped his path through the jumbled sound waves and towards the source of this maddening noise.

It led him to a man, and the man was drowning in every literal and figurative sense of the word. Charles was trying to latch onto the other's mind to control or tame him somehow, but something crudely sharp kept him away. He could even taste iron in his mouth. That never happened to Charles before.

He had never encountered a mind so immense in its burdens of violence and grief that attempting to explore what little parts that can be reached would make a telepath breathe in the blood.

｢ _What are you? Monster? Vengeful menace?_ ｣

He was running towards the edge of the ship, too focused on his target that he ignored everyone else, including the woman who brought him here. If she didn’t grab his arm and tried to shake him out of his stupor, he probably would have gone back to muting her too.

But alas, she asked, “What is it? And who was that?”

The panic in her voice reached him intensely enough that Charles was able to see her clearly again but only for as long as he can manage to answer her queries.

“That…” he shifted his gaze towards the wine-dark seas below, the torrents which engulfed a lone figure of a man who was displaying abilities that couldn’t be anything else but telekinetic.

“…is Erik,” he half-whispered the name like a forbidden word whilst a smile tugged at his lips, almost half-crazed. Charles began to strip right there and then, shedding off layers of coat and sweater whilst his eyes remained fixed upon this Erik.

｢ _Erik, Erik, Erik_ … ｣

“His name is Erik,” he repeated aloud, like it was a triumphant announcement. He barely glanced at the woman behind him before he climbed up the ledge—a nervous wreck of adrenaline and blind faith—and swan-dived into the ocean's awaiting abyss.

Several emotions burrowed into him at once—fear, excitement, anxiety, elation—before they all tried to claw their way out as soon as water filled up his lungs. He didn’t give a damn.

｢ _You're the same as me, aren’t you?_ ｣

Charles swam fervently against the tides, aching to hold the other man trapped below the weight of his misgivings and sorrow. He wanted to ensnare Erik for himself; to take him for what he is and show him that there’s a better tomorrow than the ones steeped in ashes and more deaths.

｢ _Oh, you are strong and terrifying. And I want to know more._ ｣

 

 

 

✦✸✧

 

 

 

**1942**

 

  
It was black inside here, coated in a tar-like obscurity where Erik chose to lay to rest his battle-scarred mind. In here, time simply did not exist. There were no days to endure or weeks to count, not even months to grieve. It was just black.

That was until someone was knocking on the steel lid of the compartment, interrupting the peace the boy wanted to get buried in. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to a God he hoped still listened that whoever it was would just leave him alone.

But then the lid creaked open and a faint voice said, “Time to work, _arush_ ,” before a hand reached down to ruffle Erik’s hair. The fingers slipped through the strands and massaged his scalp. He couldn’t help but be reminded of his own father waking him at noon whenever he overslept again.

He grunted under his breath and answered, “Another hour, please, Papa.”

The hand ceased moving. “I’m not your Papa. It’s Argus, _arush_. Remember where we are. You need to get out of there before one of them sees you.”

Argus was a forty-five year old Albanian with Romani heritage, and he was the only real friend Erik has made in the first four weeks at the camps. In those weeks, everything felt surreal no matter how tangible the cruelty feels, prickling his pores each time he dwelt on it long enough. And yet Erik never lost sight of what he vowed to his opa and for the cousins he could have protected.

He had not forgotten any of them. How could he not miss the twins' matching smiles and Gerhard's brown eyes? He saw them everywhere now, even felt them especially in the dark as if they were all back in the sewers again, with the girls’ skinny arms holding him by the waist and Gerhard’s palm pressed against Erik's back.

And then there came the flashes, ones of blood and bullets splattering on flesh.

He would keep seeing Klara glancing his way one last time as she mouthed two syllables at him, and before Erik could decipher them, her entire body had shaken violently as bullets peppered through it. She crumbled to the dirt below instantly, her beige dress riddled with holes where the blood seeped out.

Erik will never forget any of it, even when he wanted to. He knew he should never be allowed to.

He slowly opened his eyes now and gazed up at Argus. The older man met his stare with a tight-lipped silence, yet there was kindness behind those eyes nonetheless. Erik just assumed that Argus had a son himself, rather than explicitly asking it. Perhaps his own presence had been the much needed balm for the Albanian who may be coping from the loss of a child he still mourns.

He was two feet taller than Erik's grandfather and well-muscled, very much built to carry heavy things and instruct the weaker men to follow his example. Since the boy joined the rest of the Sonderkommando, Argus has looked out after him. The transition from being mere prisoner to hired help took a toll on Erik, and some days he wished he had killed himself too along with the other older recruits who could not stomach the horrid conditions of this particular labor.

“Time to work,” he repeated and reached with his large hands so he could help Erik climb out of the iron barrel. The boy had been sleeping inside it for a few days now. Nobody in their unit ever said anything about it, let alone inform the commanders, given that the boy already had a reputation for being a rebel and any reports of misdemeanor would most likely result in death at this point.

Erik was their youngest recruit, and he was only put here because of how he'd been acting since resisting arrest. Mere moments after the execution of his grandfather and the twin girls, Erik had gone wild and almost killed one of the officers. What got him to stop was when the commander of that unit threatened to rape his mother right there amongst the fresh corpses that were just shot, and then pass her around the other officers so they could do the same.

The boy was put on a watch list immediately as soon as they arrived to the camps. He had been severely beaten to correct his behavior then kept on solitary confinement for the first three days. The commanders would have killed him until one of them suggested that it would be a more cruel punishment to break his spirit instead.

The hours grow too long without his mother by his side, and even in sleep he couldn’t even dream of her face or the warmth of her embrace. She was out there, though, locked away on the other side of the camps were the women were stationed to serve. He longed to glimpse, even just her eyes, but the sight of them might just break him and so as awful as it sounds, he was also relieved she was not nearby.

“Why do you sleep in that barrel, _arush_?” Argus asked as he and Erik began putting on their work gloves. They stood among ten other men in the room. Four of them had just turned twenty while the rest were around Argus' age. “It's not very comfortable in there, is it? And we have barracks for ourselves, sturdy beds to lie on. Also, when was last time you even ate?”

Erik looked up at the older man as several emotions swirled in his mind. Argus’ concern was not entirely because of compassion. None of them wanted to be here, much less keep the tasks they were assigned to fulfill, but it was better than what most of their fellowmen were subjected to outside these barracks. What Argus really wanted to say when he inquired about Erik's eating habits was, ‘This job needs you strong. If you want to hold onto it, take care of yourself'.

The older man wouldn’t dare put that sentiment in spoken words, however, but the implication was still there. Erik could only gape at him for a minute or two, counting the freckles on his nose and cheeks just to buy himself time to say something in response. When he couldn’t, his eyes drifted towards the pair of boots he had to put on, and he took his time tying the grime-caked laces.

Another moment ensued before he did manage to reply, “The metal drowns out everything else, so I can sleep in the quiet dark easily, I suppose,” he stared at the dirty laces of his work boots, lost in their grime as he added, “It feels complete in there. And I don’t have to exist or breathe or…feel anything anymore.”

“Oh, Erik,” was all that Argus could say.

Suddenly, one of the men to the left remarked, “Comfort doesn’t exist in this place. And if anyone can find it, like the boy and his barrel, then let him keep it. He’s seen so much already for someone so young.”

“I meant nothing unkind about it,” Argus promptly countered. He assumed a more authoritative stance and manner of speaking now. “Now go with the others and stand outside. They’ll be unloading the trucks soon, and you know how they get when they think we aren’t doing our part well.”

“I’ll go with them,” Erik found his resolve at last and stood up as proud and tall as he could muster.

Argus frowned at that suggestion, “You’ve only been here a week, and the unloading area requires a lot of heavy-lifting. Best remain out of sight too, _arush_ , so stay by my side and assist me in undressing the bodies instead.”

“Just undressing them for today?” Erik posed the question easily enough, but there must be a look in his eye that betrayed how he really must feel, because Argus placed a gentle hand over his shoulder next.

Leaning closer, the older man said, “Don’t look at the faces, Erik. Let your hands keep working and never stay idle for long. When you let your eyes roam, they will trick you into seeing people you know who aren’t really there.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What was that, _arush_?”

“I said, you’re wrong,” Erik spoke up with a more resolute tone as he shook off Argus' hand, “I know what I saw on my first day here…when we were lining up the bodies on the slabs. I knew I saw a teacher from my school, and a baker from the street where we used to live…” his gloved fists clenched underneath him, “You can’t tell me they aren’t there when I can still smell their stench on my own pores, Argus. And—and their eyes…”

“ _Arush_ —”

“Stop, please,” his voice had grown soft, but there was some anger in it too, “Enough with the pet names. I don’t want to be anyone's child. Please.”

He put on his face-mask next as he turned away from his only friend, covering up his nose and mouth so that only his eyes were left on display. Erik risked one last glance at the iron barrel before he headed outside, disobeying Argus' command. He joined the older boys in the unloading area where the first pile of corpses need attending to.

As he worked with undressing and preparing them for cremation, his mind kept imagining that he was back inside that barrel, with its reinforced steel and muted cylinder shape that cradled him just right. He’d recite prayers inside that barrel too, knowing that perhaps God had deserted the rest of them here merely as a test of faith, just like in all those stories about his people he's been told by his father growing up.

 

 

 

  
✦✸✧

 

 

 

Sharon hasn’t been home in a week since Kurt Marko's funeral. Charles would like to say he expected differently, but he could not because he didn’t. He knew Sharon to an uncomfortable degree of familiarity that no son should ever know his mother, and her absence at the moment was therefore not a bad thing. It relieved him from the agony of attempting connection with her when she has proven time and time again that the door to her heart will forever remain shut.

On the other hand, Cain had been lethargic for at least a few more days before he regained his usual vigor again and his taste for tormenting Charles along with it. Avoiding his stepbrother around the mansion was more or less an easy task, given the large square footage of the Xavier estate. The young telepath had instead busied himself in the family’s library. Its breadth of reading material can otherwise engage a boy his age and inquisitiveness for many hours and might even help to quell the urge to explore the world with the power his mind tempts him with at every turn.

He actually missed his lessons with Kurt. They had started as a benign indulgence up until they escalated enough to an uncomfortable degree in which Charles felt as if he was being made an accomplice to personal crimes, as small-scale as they may be. It was only after the incident with Sarah, the lab assistant, that gave him the courage to put an end to Kurt using his telepathy for such crude intentions.

Charles doesn’t want to think about that anymore. And so he sat there by the large windowsill in the library which overlooked the lush garden below, hoping to forget. An almanac was open on his lap as well as a notepad. In truth, he didn’t have to write anything down if he ever wanted to remember, but the exercise has proven to be a delightful distraction.

Oh, boy does he love to study. Learning how things work, how large the world is, and how many people scattered across the globe are all yearning to venture and seek out one another—these are some of the things Charles wanted to understand more deeply.

That’s what the almanac was for. He's trying to find the best places to travel to once he’s old enough to leave this mansion. Aware of his privilege and wealth, Charles now has plans to use his inheritance to fund projects for impoverished communities, if not ground-breaking scientific research. These were all the lofty ambitions of an isolated kid finally learning he can make his dreams concrete in the future.

True, books can satisfy his scholarly interests, but it was in the actual minds of individuals where the real challenge and fulfilment lie. As a telepath, Charles learned earlier on that people only wished to be known and loved, that’s all there is to it. Acceptance is so rare an occurrence that Charles feels as if he would be imparting a gift to anyone who desires it because he knows that, through his gifts, he can more than provide it.

But how much can an eleven-year old give?

His academic focus mainly rested in the African continent for a good two hours ever since he decided to stay cooped up here in the library. That was until his interest was piqued by the morning's newspaper, particularly by a section in World News, but before he could read about this new movement in Germany, he sensed the presence of minds calling out to him below.

Blue eyes swept across the flowers and shrubbery until he perceived one of the younger maids, Andrea, and the gardener Philip having a conversation between themselves. Charles was intrigued from the moment the pair appeared more prominently in his line of vision. They looked rather cheerful; Andrea talked while moving her hands about as if she’d rather mime, as Philip listened intently the entire time, even as he busied himself planting seeds on a fresh box of dirt. He then knelt to his haunches to inspect the earth more keenly, and Andrea followed suit, uncaring of how her pristine blue uniform's skirt was smudged with the dirt.

Charles leaned closer to the glass and narrowed his gaze at the pair of them huddled together among the budding flowers and fresh soil. Without realizing it, he opened a channel between himself and the servants. He couldn’t articulate what it was he sensed at first but whatever it was, the force of their feelings almost sent him losing his balance and tumbling to the ground.

Was that lust? No, Charles knew how that feels like, at least as far as second-hand emotions go, thanks to the lecherous Kurt Marko. Growing more intrigued, the telepath gripped the ledge of the windowsill more tightly and slipped his own consciousness inside Philip's. It seemed less invasive to do it to a man than to a woman, at least that’s how he justified it, especially after what happened to Sarah.

Taking a deep breath, Charles tried to merge with Philip's mind and as soon as a more stable connection was made, he was left with this indescribable feeling of awe mixed with dull anxiety. And yet they weren’t necessarily bad feelings somehow, because this gnawing in Philip's mind and its ache was quickly soothed every time he looked at Andrea.

What was this feeling? Charles was certain he had encountered it before, or at least a semblance of it. But he had explored dozens upon dozens of minds months ago and back at the funeral last time, and so perhaps everything got jumbled together for him. He needed to refresh and recalibrate his powers next time, he supposed.

“They do look happy,” he muttered to himself as he kept observing them from this distance. Charles' eyes now shifted towards Andrea. He didn’t have to connect with her mind to learn for sure that she must be feeling the same way as Philip. Her smile was quite blinding. It made the young telepath yearn to see it directed towards him one of these days.

Sharon never smiled at him like that. No one has ever looked at Charles in school with affection either, although the teachers did like him fairly enough. Cain was that relentless in making sure that his stepbrother stayed peerless for as long as they went to the same academy together.

Things will change soon enough, however. If home is never to be found here in Westchester County then perhaps out in the world, in newer cities and with more open minds, Charles could create something whole and will never feel alone.

 

 

  
✦✸✧

 

 

 

** Present **

 

  
The sea currents were strong, slashing against his skin with an intent to bruise, but Erik has proven time and time again that he can be stronger. He must be, for what was the point of making it this far then if not for that?

Two decades or so has passed since his world burned down, and he took what charred remains were left from it and rubbed the same ashes on his open wounds. It was the one thing that kept him him living again, more so when all his anger was finally harnessed for a single purpose, and combined with an outlet in which to channel it outwards his body where it had stayed in prison for so long.

It's so alive, this rage, setting his veins and very soul ablaze. Nothing makes it as strong as the hate and humiliation he had clung to in the last twenty years, eight months and four days. And tonight, here in deep abyss of the ocean, Erik doesn’t even falter as he focuses the power of his metalokinesis on the largest steel he could feel calling to him from underwater.

Eyes growing dark with bloodlust, Erik allowed the power to surge through his fingers and slowly lifted the anchor from the hull of the ship below. The metal weighed like a continent, but it didn’t compare to the mass of his own heart, bursting with a mess of emotions ranging from grief to fury. The water splashing across his face was a mercy. It mixed with the tears he was not even aware were flowing.

His palm was upturned to the sky, balancing the anchor using only the power of his mind. Erik wondered once where these abilities even came from, but he never dared to overthink about something he will probably never understand or get answers for. That would only get in the way of his vendetta. What mattered ultimately was that he can control any material made of iron, metal or steel and fashioned it into a weapon.

With a loud cry, Erik released the anchor and yanked it across the ship, tearing through the surface until everything splintered due to the massive force. He could not deny how good that felt. Brutality was as familiar as the man in the camps who taught him its craft, the one whom Erik has been chasing and has finally found again.

That was a momentary relief though. Pain was still on his gut and lungs after all, hardening everything else inside him that used to care and bleed.

It mattered not. Erik had power, and it was the one thing that he could count on, for all he will ever be is Frankenstein’s monster, hellbent on punishing his creator and anyone who has ever persecuted him.

What else is there? Everyone he had ever fought for was dead, and he had no more place to call home—just a mission, and he cares not for where that will take him as long as he gets his pound of flesh.

 

 

 

  
✦✸✧

 

 

  
**1942**

 

  
Peaceful slumber was only possible for Charles these days after he has learned to establish a fortified shield between his mind and the rest of humanity that’s close by. He hasn’t measured exactly the radius his telepathy could travel, but that was one of the things in his list he will be eager to try once he’s certain enough that it will be safe. He knew that he wanted to keep developing his powers, but he's also been taking precautions lately on using them.

Charles decided to sleep earlier than usual tonight, since it was also the best way not to deal with Cain. His stepbrother hadn’t been putting that much effort in tormenting him for the most part, and this was largely due to the fact that he's been in a good mood ever since that astral projection of a mother which the younger boy had made for him.

In the last few days, Cain then kept to himself inside the spacious guest room on the third floor which had all of Brian Xavier's train sets. Charles didn’t mind Cain playing with them. There's something calming about mechanical objects that was enough to pacify Cain for the time being. Besides, he thought it was slightly endearing that the older boy chose such a hobby. If only he wasn’t so afraid and angry at Charles for being different, maybe the two boys could have been friends and eventually real brothers.

The young telepath hasn’t given up hope that it can still happen.

It was past midnight when Charles was awakened by something he was sure he has never felt before. Even with the large breadth of the Xavier estate, Charles knew every square foot and, almost upon instincts, he also kept tabs where the household help were. There were eight adults in total (the butler, three maids, two drivers, a gardener and a security guard), and then there was this new addition. A burglar? Not possible. The estate was quite secluded from the usual roads that lead directly to the main city.

No, there was something unusual about this presence.

Charles' curiosity eventually outweighed his fear and caution, and he got up from his bed so he could investigate. He has nothing on his person that could help defend himself physically against the intruder but, as arrogant as it sounded, the boy was more than certain that he can counter any attack with the use of his mental powers. He has utilized them only once, and it was to subdue someone recently. Since then, he has learned to control with just the right amount of pressure so as not to permanently injure someone which might lead to their demise.

At the moment he didn’t feel that this new presence is an urgent threat. No, Charles was far too beguiled to understand the complexity of this individual's thoughts that the last thing he wanted was an outright confrontation. He hasn’t read their mind too keenly just yet, but judging by the impressions he got so far, he guessed that this was a person who experienced their own slice of tragedy and used it as the driving force for survival.

It always saddens Charles each time he encountered minds like this one. Even at eleven years old, the young telepath believes fiercely that there should be more to life than just surviving another day.

This intruder was in the kitchen at the moment, rummaging through the cabinets before heading to the fridge. As soon as he glimpsed her appearance from behind, Charles was immediately stopped dead cold on his tracks. It was no other than Sharon. He was taken aback so much that he forgot that it would have been impossible for her to be back here so soon.

“Is—is everything alright, mother?” he ended up asking without a second thought as he approached said woman closer. “When have you come home?”

His eyes darted across the windows that were located on the right side. Did the chauffeur park somewhere close by? But Charles hasn’t heard a running engine or felt anybody else's mind in the vicinity. There was only his mother, and she didn’t feel right to him at all.

“You startled me! I—I just got home, actually. Sorry to wake you up, baby.”

Yes, Sharon Xavier never would have spoken to him with that level of warmth.

When the realization dawned on him that this impostor was the very same presence who disturbed his sleep moments ago, Charles' expression darkened. He felt a mixture of fear, confusion and anger which he was quick to keep under wraps. By now he understood the kind of effect his emotions can have and therefore could also influence the intensity of his telepathy, and so it was always best to choose prudence. This was a delicate moment after all, and he needed to understand a few things first.

“Why didn’t you come upstairs? We’ve been waiting for you for days ” he asked her next as he stepped towards the table so he could pull up a chair and sit on it. It was an indication on his part that he intended to stay here.

The impostor spoke in his mother's voice flawlessly next as she leaned her palm against a counter and said, “Well, anyway, I was just getting something to eat. Would you want me to fix you up something too, hon?”

“No, thank you. Go ahead and eat. I’ll keep you company,” Charles tried to keep his expression vacant, but the incessant terms of endearment coupled by the nervous smile which also matched the confused look in the impostor’s eyes almost made him want to burst out laughing. It would have been ridiculous, if it wasn’t so darn disturbing. What kind of creature can replicate and mimic another person so perfectly like this? It was truly uncanny, and nothing Charles has ever seen before.

“Mum?” he decided to do the daring thing and addressed this fake Sharon informally, something his real mother never would have allowed.

With an expectant gaze towards him as she maintained the charade, this woman answered, “What is it, sweetie?”

“I’ve missed you,” Charles admitted. He meant it too, which was what made it even sadder. What he really meant to say was ‘ _You haven’t been the same since he died, and I keep waiting for you to come back but I'm also learning to accept that you probably never will_.’

His eyes stung with tears he didn’t even want to shed, let alone acknowledge, as he stared and stared at this impostor and wished that she was the real deal instead.

On cue, this Sharon approached at last and put her hand on his head, ruffling his hair. Her expression looked relaxed enough and—as Charles subtly probed her mind—he could also sense that she had pitied him in that moment. He went stiff under her touch, yet he couldn’t bring himself pull away either. It would have been the best opportunity to unmask her right there and then too. He could call it off and find out what she is, maybe even do something to her so she’d confess. That was Kurt Marko talking, though. Charles will not become that loathsome man.

Besides, whoever this creature is, she looked exactly like the woman he wanted more than anything to hold him, so instead Charles took advantage of this rare chance and reached for the hand she offered, giving it a squeeze.

Between shaky breaths and a mournful voice, he asked, “Can—can you tuck me to bed after you finished eating, mum?”

Fake Sharon's smile faltered for a second or two before she nodded and squeezed his hand back, “How about we get you to bed now? You must be so tired. Come on, Chuckie.”

He ignored the fact that she even knew his name and just flashed her his best smile. Afterwards, he climbed out of the chair and led her out of the kitchen and towards the large staircase. Charles decided to engage the impostor in a conversation on their way there.

“Today has was fun,” he shared, “I spent the better part of the day at the library, doing research about the African continent. I want to go there someday and help the indigenous people from small villages. They don’t have the same kind of lives as we do here. Did you know that there is so much sickness and epidemic going around in these small countries of Africa because of dwindling resources and general apathy from the ones in charge?”

By this point, they were halfway done climbing the staircase. Fake Sharon looked like she was only half-listening, but at least she was making an effort, which was all a child really needs from a parent. She said, “You’ve been busy, I see. Well, all in good time, Charlie. Maybe when you grow up, you can achieve those dreams.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Charles was beaming. This impostor may just be spouting out feigned sentiments but he appreciated hearing them nonetheless. So he kept talking, “I want to travel to places likes Africa and use the resources of our family to give people better lives especially education. I love learning new things everyday, mum, and I bet there are boys and girls in those villages who will feel the same way too if only they knew how to read.”

They finally reached his bedroom. Charles excitedly pulled her hand as he led them inside. He only let go so that he could jump onto the mattress and pull the covers over himself. To his mild yet pleasant surprise, Fake Sharon was already helping him with the blankets, probably out of instinct because it seemed like the obvious thing to do. Whoever they are, Charles could now sense that there was still kindness in them, hesitant as they may be to show it especially to a strange boy.

Probing slightly deeper in to their mind, he also got a better read of their intentions at last, and he took comfort in the knowledge that the reason this impostor broke in earlier was because they were starving and badly needed to feed. They certainly didn’t plan the disguise just to deceive Charles. They were merely caught by surprise and now had to play the part. Regardless of the reason, the young telepath didn’t care, so he laid there on the bed amongst the large pillows he used to pretend where the shapes of his parents, and stared at the blue eyes of Fake Sharon, who looked back at him lacking any of his actual mother's disdain and regret.

“Sing me a song, mum, like you always do.”

The last part he added for emphasis so the impostor would think that this was what normally Sharon Xavier would do for her son. Even though there’s trepidation in their eyes, they obliged. They hummed at first whilst a hand brushed across his hair. As his eyes slowly fluttered shut because of the contact of her fingers against his forehead being so soothing, the words to the song became much clearer.

 

 

❛ hєrє í αm, thєrє чσu вє  
mílєs αnd mílєs αwαч frσm mє  
í cαn't sєє thє gσσd ín gσσdвчє  
stíll вєst σf fríєnds hαvє tσ pαrt  
dσn't lσsє slєєp  
αnd dσn't lσsє hєαrt  
nσ nєєd, sσ вαвч dσn't crч

í'd rαthєr вє вluє thínkíng σf чσu  
í'd rαthєr вє вluє σvєr чσu  
thαn вє hαppч wíth sσmєвσdч єlsє... ❜

 

 

Not only did Charles slowly drift off to sleep soon afterwards, but he also forgot about the fact that this Sharon wasn’t his real mother but a burglar who intended to rob their estate. A rational part of his mind knew he can’t let them get away for their thievery (especially when they possess the ability to transform into other people).

But a larger part of his subconscious also whispered to him, citing: ‘ _Why not let them go and take as much food as they need? You’re wealthy, safe here in your big house, while they starve and just want to survive. Your mother may not love you and your father is dead, but there are worse things that happen every day to children like you_.’

Right before he truly gave in to slumber, Charles looked at Fake Sharon one last time and saw her eyes glimmer a strange color of amber-yellow. He reached for her hand and clasped it anyway, whispering, “Please don’t leave me again. I love you, mum. Please stay…”

The impostor looked taken aback, but they squeezed his hand back and said, “Ill be right here when you wake up, Charles.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he hoped against all odds that they’ll keep that promise.

 

 

 

 

  
✦✸✧

 

 

 

  
The barracks were cloaked in semi-darkness since the light from a single lantern perched next to the locked doors was the only thing that illuminated what would have been an otherwise dank and eerily silent cavern.

Erik was nowhere to be found amongst the narrow bunk beds. His mattress was supposed to be at the very end where it's pushed against a wall marred by cracks on its surface, but the boy had never bothered to sleep on it since coming here to live with the other Sonderkommando. The men had let him have the steel barrel to himself for weeks now, since none has the heart to deny him such a rare privilege of peace and solitude.

Erik couldn’t sleep tonight, however, no matter how utterly alone he felt while surrounded by the iron and steel of the compartment. Instead, he blinked at the blackness before him and clutched his legs together as he pulled them close to himself, resting his chin on the knees. In spite of his best efforts, images of brutality played over and over in his head.

There was Klara again, muttering something under her breath before she fell onto the dirt awaiting below. Her round, uncomprehending eyes met Erik's, beseeching him to explain the inexplicable, the horrible and evil.

She asked, ‘ _Warum_?’

That was the last thing she ever said before the bullets shredded her clothes and torn her flesh.

 _Warum_?

Erik sobbed now, half-choking as he did due to the intensity of his grief. He felt suddenly trapped inside this barrel which used to be the safest place here in the camps yet kept failing to protect him from his own memories and ghouls nevertheless. Hot tears stained his cheeks, his throat constricting with each breath he took. The barrel was at last depriving him of oxygen which was exactly what he wanted. Usually, the men would not close the lid all the way to allow air to pass through, but tonight Erik brought a small metal rod with him which he then used to pull the lid and secure it more firmly than it's supposed to be.

He thought he could make it through more tomorrows after the last ones, but his strength was becoming as brittle as his bones. Not even the small hope of seeing his mother again could keep Erik from breathing and fighting any longer. He's too sad and frustrated at God whose test of faith he had now failed. The boy, going on thirteen a week from now, wanted to be at peace which only death could fulfill. This was the only way he could atone for the small atrocity he was forced to commit against his own fellowmen when he and the rest of the Sonderkommando have to burn their remains.

No sooner after he passed out when he heard the lid being turned and arms were pulling him out of the barrel. He was too weak to resist any of it. The boy didn’t want to be saved. What was the point of going on if there was nobody else to live for? Survival would be hollow if you have nothing or anyone to call your home.

After a vain attempt to keep his legs inside the barrel by folding the back of his knees around the ledge so he could grip it, Erik eventually gave in and begrudgingly allowed his rescuer to pull him out completely from the brink of death. At first he thought that it was Argus, but the hands which now cupped his face were far too small and gentle. Were they his mother's hands? Impossible.

Erik opened his eyes and glimpsed the sight of unruly brown curls which cascaded over the shoulders and spilled onto the forearms of a young girl. She was holding onto him, shaking him awake. He adjusted his eyes so they could lock with hers. She was maybe around his age and quite pretty, or at least that was what his oxygen-deprived mind thought so.

“I was told about you, Max,” she spoke in fluent enough German, though with an accent he couldn’t place. His eyes then widened as soon as she addressed him with a name he hasn't been called in a long time ever since his parents changed all of their names so that the family could migrate to Germany. He’d been called ‘Erik’ in the last five years, and it was the only name his late younger cousins had known him by too.

This girl must have had access to his official papers where his Jewish-born name was stated. It begs the question who she is then. And how did she even know that he was inside the barrel this whole time, let alone reach the barracks of Sonderkommando by herself without alerting the soldiers who patrol the grounds?

“Take heart, Max,” A hand brushed the hair from his forehead in a soothing manner. “I know your mother. She told me you'd be here as punishment.” Lowering her voice now, she added, “The women from the other side of the camps have a plan. It will just take time, but it's going to happen once we have enough to smuggle. That’s where Argus and the rest of his men come in. And you’ll be helping us too, yes?”

“How did you even get here? You could have been captured and killed!” He pushed her away, “Leave, you fool! Before anyone else comes and sees you!”

“Don’t worry. I know my way back where I can avoid detection,” the girl patted him once on the knee, akin to a nursemaid reassuring a child in her care, “There are secret passages, and a few friends on the inside. Hope has not deserted us. Besides, if I haven't come at all, you would have died, and what do I say to your mother about it? You’re the one being foolish!”

Ashamed to admit that she was right, Erik instead tried to sit up while she gladly assisted him to lean against the wall next to the barrel. Her arms were wrapped around his body with too much familiarity that such an unexpected action would have embarrassed him if only the circumstances of their meeting were a lot different.

“What else did my mother say?” he inquired next, staring at this strange girl with a lovely face he found this weird urge to sketch all of a sudden.

“She said you are strong,” the girl replied as a dreamy smile appeared on her lips. Erik hoped he wasn’t blushing. He was still too pale anyway from almost dying earlier. Being smiled at by a pretty girl shouldn’t disarm him so, given everything that has happened, and yet it did. Somehow, this small indulgence of normalcy worsened the guilt.

The girl in question sensed that something must be wrong because she touched his shoulder then with a tenderness he just wasn’t accustomed to anymore. Giving it a squeeze, she said, “Your mother wants you to remember who you are. Your name is Max Eisenhardt. She told me to ask you if you remember what your father said about the name before.”

Erik didn’t react at first. After a few more seconds, he nodded and said, “I will never forget.”

“Good,” she flashed him a grin this time, “My name is Magda. I’m here with my mother too. We're Romani. Two months ago, we were abducted as we were crossing a bridge that would have taken us out of this country. We have been nomads all our lives, and so we were more than ready to leave and start over. Sadly, there were are too many of these men, and they all obeyed orders the instructions as if they came from the mouths of gods.”

“Power can make anyone feel like they’re God,” Erik remarked, rolling down the sleeves of his uniform. He couldn’t look at Magda anymore as this new wave of anxiety and anger washed over him. However, the knowledge that his mother was still out there, alive and fighting, renewed his own vigor to live.

“Power alone would not make anyone a god, Max,” Magda rose to her feet and offered a hand towards him. “I was told that mercy is far stronger and not something that can ever be wielded as a weapon, but rather one you accept or impart as a gift.”

Erik finally reached out and clasped around her hand so he could stand and find his own ground. Magda locked gazes with him again. Her brown eyes, rich as the earth, pierced through him. With another smile, she wrapped her other hand on top of his as if she meant to forge a bond between them, and she might as well already have.

“Love for yourself and others, Max, is how we aspire for godliness.”

Since they now faced one another, he could appraise her appearance far more astutely. Magda was wearing the designated uniform for those who work in the factories. She was supposed to have a cap on, but he sensed that it got removed earlier as she struggled to get him out of that barrel all by herself. Magda was four inches shorter (than the already five foot-five Erik) and very lithe in built.

So where does all her optimism come from? Erik has heard stories of women suffering grimmer evils on their side of the camps; of the soldiers beating the pregnant to death and molesting the younger girls. The last thought made Erik wince and avert his gaze. He didn’t know how to feel let alone say if ever Magda had undergone such an agony herself. And what of his own mother? She would not have been safe from maltreatment either, would she?

Tears stung his eyes again. Before he could blink or wipe them away, Magda's hand was upon his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. “We will be okay,” she murmured and although her voice was soothing, her eyes betrayed her own embittered doubts. Still, she rubbed her thumb against the trail of his tear and smiled as if she meant it—like she was never broken before.

She then pointed to the doors leading to the men's barracks.

“Sleep on the bed tonight, okay?” Magda released his hand and regarded him with a scolding though half-amused look. “Now, I won’t tell your mother about what happened here, but you also have to promise me that you'll keep fighting, like all of us are doing. I know you have more steel than you think, Max.”

Erik wanted to protest. He didn’t owe her anything. But the words of his grandfather rang in his ears at that moment, urging him to choose the right though disheartening path.

_‘You need to be strong—stronger than the rest of us.’_

With a curt nod, he began to walk towards the doors but not before glancing over his shoulder to ask his rescuer, “When can I see my mother?”

Magda looked unsure this time and for a moment he glimpsed just how young she truly was. But that moment was gone as soon as she answered with a resolute smile and said, “Once we escape together with our lives intact, you'll see Ruth, your mother. And so take heart, Max. It'll happen sooner than you think.”

 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> It took me almost three months to update this CHERIK Alphabet Challenge. I've been busy with work and other writings, but I will devote time to pursue this series because this story and the characters themselves are far too important to me to ever give up writing for. Thank you everyone for reading this and the other previous oneshot that accompanies it. Reviews and thoughts will be greatly appreciated!


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